


The Legend of the Manhattan Five

by mother_finch



Series: It's a Sin to Kill a Mockingbird [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 07:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20327143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: PROMPT: Hi I don’t know if you’re still taking prompt but can you write a continuation of “It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird”? Maybe when Jean is much older (almost a teenager) and she tries to find the two women that saved her when she was a kid and she and her friends go to look for urban legends that are team machine?





	The Legend of the Manhattan Five

"They've had many names in the media: the Man in the Suit, the Murder Twins, Team Rocket... hell, I've even heard them called _Team Machine_\-- whatever that means. I think I know, but I don't have all the details. After all, they're an urban legend. At least, that's what everyone thinks.

"But I know better. I know _them_."

"Jean, how long are you gonna ramble for?" Jason groans, tossing an empty spray-paint can her way. She swats at it, electric green eyes staring him down as it clatters to the subway floor.

"I need to document this _somehow_," she retorts, snapping off her tape recorder.

"Are we really chasing ghosts right now?" Molly whines, voice muddied behind the bandana tied around her mouth. "I thought this was, like, a joke or something."

"I've been telling you since second grade that they're real."

"And we were supposed to _believe_ you?"

Jean rolls her eyes at Molly, then continues her work on the wall. She turns the tape recorder back on.

"The last time I know I saw them, I was four years old. They found me at a toy store after I ran out of my aunt's house."

She sprays a long pink arch along the subway wall.

"I think I've seen them after. Only one-- _Sam_. She's never there enough to be certain, but I swear I've seen glimpses. Her reflection in a store window, the glint of her eyes in a crowd."

"_Gag_," Jason cracks, and Molly bursts out with laughter. Again, Jean stops her recording.

"If you're not going to take this seriously, I can figure it out on my own."

"Oh, come on Jean, you know we're in it 'til the end."

"Yeah," Molly adds, placing a hand on Jean's shoulder, "we're just having some fun."

Jean nods, capping her paint and stashing it in her backpack.

"We should get moving," Jean tells them, stepping back to admire her work. "The last thing we need right now is to get caught."

They pack up their things and begin their trek down the subway line. Jean takes a glance back, eyes scanning her latest work: a large, neon-colored mockingjay. 

"It's been ten years," she murmurs to herself, "but I'm gonna find you."

Her cellphone rings, and she begrudgingly pulls it from her pocket. _Of course, because who the hell else would it be?_

_Aunt Holly._

She motions for Jason and Molly to keep quiet before answering the phone.

"Hey, Aunt Holly," she coos in a syrupy sweet voice, fingers crossed that she's not in trouble.

"Jean-Louise Finch--" _Full name, definitely in trouble--_ "do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Um..."

"It's 11:30pm. Curfew's at _nine_."

"I know, I know, but I'm just up late studying with Mol--"

"Don't lie to me."

The sentence echoes along the length of the subway, and Jean closes her eyes tight. _Busted_.

"I just called Mrs. Myer," Aunt Holly continues, "and she says that Molly told her the two of you were staying at _my_ house."

"Awe, shit," Molly hisses under her breath, and Jean swats at her to keep silent.

"Aunt Holly, I'm sorry, I just--"

"I'm tired of you running around all night. One of these days something truly bad is going to happen, and who will be there to get you out of it?"

"I know, I don't know what I was thinking..." Jean trails off, gears clicking into place. _Who shows up when you need help the most?_

A devilish grin creeps onto her features.

"I gotta go."

"You gotta go _home_, you mean?" Aunt Holly shoots back.

"No," Jean replies, voice floating as her mind wanders away from the conversation. "I gotta go get in trouble."

"WHAT D--"

Jean ends the call before the full force of Aunt Holly's words can ricochet off every wall. The phone immediately begins ringing again, and she tosses it onto the tracks.

"Are you nuts?" Jason asks, eyes wide as Jean brushes past him and Molly. "You're going to be grounded for _life_ when you get home."

"I'm not going home," Jean responds simply. His jaw hangs loose.

"You're... you're not going home...? Like, ever?"

"I've waited ten years to find Root and Sam. I know they're out there, and I think I just figured out how to get to them." Jean looks her friends over-- her best friends, her through-hell-and-high-water friends, her found family.

She sighs.

"Look, you don't have to go with me. I'm going to get into some serious shit tonight, and it might not go down so good. But I'm going whether you like it or not."

Jason and Molly are silent.

"Well," Molly starts slowly, "my mom's going to be ten times angrier than your aunt, so I'd rather be out here than there anyway."

Jason looks at her with wide eyes.

"You serious?" he whispers to her, as if Jean can't hear.

Molly nods.

"You can go home, Jase," Jean assures him. He looks between the two.

"No way, wherever you two are, I'm there."

Jean can't help the tug of a smile on her cheek, heart filling with butterflies and bursting. _We're doing this, we're really doing this._

"And besides," he adds as the trio climb off the rails and onto the nearest terminal, "who's gonna protect you two if something goes sideways?"

Jean and Molly can't help but erupt with laughter.

"If I'm not mistaken, _who_ beat up your fourth grade bullies?" Jean asks.

"And _who_ made sure the sixth graders stopped stealing your lunch money?" Molly adds.

"And who was it that keeps you out of your freshman locker everyday?"

"And who walks you home in the dark?"

"Alright, _alright_," Jason interjects, throwing his hands up. "I get your point."

Jean gives him a hand off the tracks, and they start toward the stairwell.

_This is happening_, she thinks to herself. She doesn't quite know how to feel. It's been years, she was a child when she first met them-- could she be remembering them wrong? It couldn't have lasted more than a week; what if she's so caught up in the legend behind this group that she's missing some greater truth?

She pushes the nervousness down, letting it simmer in the pit of her stomach. _There's only one way to find out._

**___\ If Your Number's Up /___**

Shaw is drawn from sleep by the growing ring of her cellphone, eyes drowsily peeling open to face the darkness. She doesn't feel like answering, but knows if she's getting a call, it's not some telemarketer or Jehovah's Witness. If someone's calling, something's wrong.

She untangles herself from Root as best she can, easing herself out of bed as to not wake her, and swipes the phone off the side table. She slips into the living room and presses the phone to her ear.

"This better be good, Harold."

"We have a new number."

Shaw rolls her eyes.

"And here, I thought you were calling about a midnight showing at the _gala_."

"Her name is Margaret Myers," Harold continues, irritation edging his words. "Fourteen, freshman at Eleanor Roosevelt High School."

At the name, her heart turns to ice, but she ignores it.

"So, what's the problem?" Shaw asks, rocking from foot to foot as the chilly hardwood sends coldness snaking up her ankles. "Boyfriend break up with her, and now she's dead-set on revenge?"

"I don't know," Harold replies. "As far as I can tell, she has a spotless record. She's an honor student, a star athlete for the girl's lacrosse team, no issues with law enforcement..." he trails off, and Shaw stops rocking. Something in his silence grabs her attention.

"No issues until... tonight," Harold says, something curious in his tone. "She was last seen with two other teenagers. Her mother called in to say she'd ran off after curfew, and they're looking for her now."

"Great, so call Fusco, have him look into it, and I'll see you in the morning." Shaw begins to hang up, but Harold's voice reaches to her frantically from the receiver.

"Wait, wait, we both know if her number's come up, there's something wrong that the police are not going to be able to handle on their own."

She sighs, knowing he's right but not wanting to admit it. She looks back toward her room, the warmth of the blankets and Root curled around her seeming like a distant memory now. She rolls her jaw.

"Fine, I'm on it."

She hangs up, then heads back into her room. From the moonlight trickling in, Shaw sees the bed is empty. At the dresser, Root finishes getting dressed and begins running a brush through her dark hair.

"Where are we headed?" Root asks as Shaw slips by her, throwing on a pair of black jeans.

"We're looking for a missing kid."

Silence. Root stops brushing her hair, time standing still for the moment. Shaw knows the second it leaves her mouth that she could have worded that a million different ways, and each of them would have been better.

"Fourteen years old. Ran out of the house. No one's seen her since."

"_Oh_?" Root responds, slowly reanimating. Her interest is piqued, and Shaw knows exactly why.

"Name's Margaret Myers."

"Oh." Deflated. Unenthused. Shaw closes her eyes tight, hating to hear Root like that.

It's been a while, a decade really, since the last missing child. Sure, there were teenagers getting into trouble, and the occasional infant-slash-heir-to-the-thrown, but there was nothing like her. _Nothing like Jean-Louise Finch._ She tries her best to avoid the subject with Root, and thinks Root is past it-- _or at the very least, mostly past it._ There was something about that goodbye, the way Jean begged to stay but couldn't, that she's certain stuck with Root. For a job meant to leave people with better lives than they started with, this case just didn't seem that way.

It didn't seem that way to Shaw either. She never quite admitted it, but she thought about it almost every day for a long time. How happy Jean was with them, and how happy Root was with Jean. _Clearly, family isn't our dynamic, _Shaw reminds herself, as she had all those years ago. But still, with it so close and so tangible, it's hard shaking the feeling that if things had turned out even a little differently, they would have completely different lives right now.

_We would have soccer games and birthdays and last minute essays. We would have a kid._

_Unrealistic pipe dream_, Shaw thinks bitterly. She'd never really wanted a family to begin with, but something about the time they'd spent together was... _nice._

She remembers that night, coming home and finding Root in a hapless heap in their bed. She remembers holding her close until Root fell asleep, and she remembers not being able to sleep at all. She wanted to do anything to make the pain stop, but in the end, there was nothing they could do. _Nothing that would have given Jean a better life than her normal aunt with her normal job and normal feelings could._

_And we just have to live with that. Mostly._

Shaw would be lying if she said she hadn't seen Jean since. Just peeks, really, like a small glimpse into her life. Often at first-- Jean was young and The Brotherhood was still out there-- but occasionally since. It's not something she's ever told Root-- the team agreed Root should distance herself as much as possible from the situation, which Root didn't fight-- but Shaw knows Root would want someone looking out for Jean.

Looking out for Jean also means Shaw knows exactly who Margaret Myers is, and who those two other teenagers most likely are.

"Why don't you stay home for this one?" Shaw asks Root, leaning against the dresser and facing her. "You need sleep, and if it gets bad, I'll just call John."

"When have you known me to take a day off?" Root quips back, some of the light resurfacing in her eyes. She leans in close to Shaw, her warmth radiating against Shaw's skin. "Let's you and me have a late night on the town."

Shaw mulls it over. She knows the likelihood of things turning out good are slim, but then again, good in this situation seems rather relative.

"Running from the cops with you is never a bad way to spend the evening," Shaw replies with a smirk. She watches the way it brings a large grin to Root's face, and almost forgets how bad this might turn out.

"Then it's settled," Root says, grabbing her guns from the nightstand and slipping them into her waistline.

Shaw's phone pings with a tracker on Margaret Myers' cellphone, sent by Harold. _Let's hope this doesn't go sideways_, Shaw thinks to herself, jarred from her thoughts only by Root grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the front door.

**___\ We'll Find You /___**

"Oh my _God_, we're _so_ screwed," Molly cries as they dash down a nearby alley.

"Shut up, it's going to be fine."

"Fine? _Fine_?!" Molly's voice verges on shrill. "Jean, we just stole a brick of _heroin_."

"Like I said, fine."

"I'm with Molly on this one," Jason chimes in, voice like a leaf in a hurricane. "How did you even know where to find that?"

"I've been looking for these guys for a long time, don't you think I know the types of people they go after?"

"So you stalk drug dealers?"

"Not stalk, just... keep tabs on."

"You're insane," Molly heaves, hyperventilation kicking in. "You have to face the facts already. You just _have_ to."

"What facts?" Jean asks, fingers curling into fists as she grows defensive.

"The facts that your parents were straight up _murdered_."

"Molly," Jason says in a warning tone. She pays him no mind.

"And you bolted out of your aunt's house 'cause you didn't _get_ it."

"_Molly_\--"

"And some _freaks_ just found you camping out in a store, and didn't tell the police right away."

"Come on, quit it--"

"And you've created some sick, _twisted_ story to make yourself feel better that you're not some _nutcase_ with no parents."

"She doesn't mean that," Jason says to Jean, hoping that since he can't stop Molly from saying it, he can stop Jean from believing it. "She's just freaked, she dropped her school ID when we were running away."

"Who brings their school ID to graffiti a _subway_?" Jean spits to Molly, not quite getting the point of Jason's talk.

"What if something happens and we go missing? At least they'll know to look for _me_."

"Yeah," Jean shoots, "what a fantastic help it is right now."

Yelling erupts from the street, and footsteps follow soon after. The trio quiet down, though Molly's jagged breathing cuts through the air like a fog horn. She covers her mouth with her hands, but it does little to curb the noise.

"Come on out!" a man's voice shouts, and the three nearly jump out of their skin. "Come on Margaret, I know you didn't mean to do this."

"Shit, shit, shit," Molly whispers, the words barely escaping between her fingers. "They found my ID."

"It's going to be okay," Jean tells her.

"That has my address on it. They're gonna _kill_ me."

"How's about you come on out," the man continues, voice growing dangerously close, "and you give that back, and then you can get on home. It's a little late for you to be out, isn't it?"

"We should just give it back," Jason whispers, sheet white against the grimy brick of the alley. "No harm, no foul."

"If she goes out there, they're not going to just let her go."

The footsteps are nearly on top of them now, and Jean knows if they stay here, they're going to get caught.

"We have to move," she all but breathes, gesturing to move further into the alley. They begin creeping further into the darkness, until the streetlight no longer touches the world around them. From the street, the silhouette of a man stands with his back to the alley.

"Do you see anything?" the man yells to someone.

"No, you?" they yell back.

_CRASH!_

Metal and glass hit the ground with a cacophonous boom enough to wake the heavens.

The man whips around, flashlight's beam landing on them. Jean and Jason struggle to pull Molly off a pile of trash, the metal garbage can knocked haphazardly over.

"Over here!" he bellows, raising his firearm in their direction and shooting twice.

"Come on!" Jean screams, tugging Molly up the rest of the way and racing down the alley. They are spit out on the other side of the block, and book down the street. Gunshots splatter the alleyway, and footsteps grain on them.

"We're so _screwed_," Molly says, tears streaming down her cheeks. Jean makes a quick lunge for a doorway, and the two follow close behind. They crouch down, hiding in the shadows. Jean's heart is nearly bursting in her chest, lungs burning so bad she can't steady her breathing. Her fingers shake, and she can't help but close her eyes against it all.

_The gunshots, the gunshots, the gunshots. Blood on her teddybear, just out of reach. Back against the closet wall, clothes suffocating, who are those people, what are they doing, mom's not moving--_

Everything stops. Two sets of footsteps start along the street, echoing against the buildings like thunder.

_We're going to die here. This is it._ All she's ever wanted was to find them, but she shouldn't have done it like this._ I shouldn't have done it like this._

"Jean..." Molly's voice is close to her ear, but she doesn't open her eyes. She keeps herself in a small ball, flashes of the night with her parents racing through her mind too strong to stop.

"Jean..." she tries again, this time tugging at Jean's sleeve.

"Jean... I think it's them."

_The men, here to kill us,_ Jean thinks to herself, dread clogging her veins and bringing on a heart attack. I_ should have just gone home when Aunt Holly told me to._ She opens her eyes, needing to see their faces. Needing to look for any last escape.

She sees the first. Straight, dark hair slicked back in a ponytail. Mahogany eyes piercing, jaw locked.

_What?_

The second is taller. Brown, wavy hair and dark chocolate eyes. Black biker jacket and a gun in each hand.

This isn't the ‘_them’_ she thought it was.

"...Root?"

**___\ The Legend /___**

Root had scanned the three teenagers with little interest, not sure what they'd done to get into so much trouble, but sure they were in way over their heads. _I mean really, three kids hiding in a doorway, and you don't think anyone will notice?_ They certainly aren't your avid criminals.

Then, she heard her name.

"...Root?"

The voice was something close to familiar. Different, almost tugging at the edges of a memory, but nothing quite surfaces. She locks eyes with the girl who spoke, catching the girl's bright green eyes and dark hair with a pink streak.

_I know those eyes._

It clicks, but it can't be. _There's no way that it can be--_

"It's you," she says, wonder and disbelief and excitement all wrapped up into one as she springs from the doorway and throws her arms around Root.

It can be. _It is._

"Jean?" Root says, though she already knows the answer. She stows her guns and pulls Jean into a tight hug. Then, she pushes her to arm's length, studying her face in the light of the streetlamp.

She can see Jean's childish features mostly gone, but that tiny nose and those big eyes are still the same.

"Look at you," Root says, smile overtaking her and making it nearly impossible to speak. "Look how tall you are-- look at your _hair_," Root pinches the pink strands between her fingers. Her heart is in her throat now, and she can barely swallow it down enough to speak. "You're just, you're so big now, you're all..."

Reality kicks in.

"What are you doing out here?" Root's voice is stern but not mean, she's not sure she could muster true anger right now, even if she wanted to.

"I was looking for you-- _we_ were looking for you." She gestures to her friends, with mouths open wide and saucers for eyes.

"I told you they were _real_," she says to them, getting in her final dig.

"You, uh... were right," Jason says slowly, shock definitely setting in.

"These your friends?" Root asks, eyeing them as if making sure they're up to her standards. Jean nods her head vigorously.

"Jason and Molly."

Jean doesn't quite let go of Root, but wraps her arm around Shaw as well, giving her a hug and a wide grin.

"I'm almost your height."

"That's not a high bar to meet," Shaw cracks, and Jean's grin only grows.

"I knew you were out there," Jean says, still not seeming to quite believe the words as they roll off her tongue. "I could _swear_ I saw you around, you know, but as hard as I tried I couldn't actually _find_ you."

Root gives Shaw a questioning look, and Shaw does her best to avoid Root's gaze.

"Had to make sure you stayed out of trouble," Shaw responded, to which Jean hugs her tighter. Root lifts a brow, and Shaw gives a somewhat apologetic look. "I didn't do too good of a job though, did I?"

"We stole heroin," Jean blurts, and Root drops her mounting disbelief that Shaw hadn't told her about these secret stake-outs.

"Not your smartest move, kiddo."

"It worked."

Root nods, having to give her that one.

"You guys are always doing drug busts. Not like, always always, but the Man in the Suit is constantly doing it, and a lot of murders happen around drug deals gone wrong, and since I can't predict murders-- no one can, you know?-- I thought I'd watch and wait."

"Until tonight," Root points out, amused at Jean's rambling. Somewhere inside, something clicks, and Root feels more complete than she has in a long time.

"A girl can't wait around forever."

Root pulls her back into a hug, closing her eyes and savoring the moment like it's the only one that matters in the world.

"You were looking for me too, right?"

The question shatters the warmth in Root's chest.

"I..." Root trails off.

"I mean, you had to be, didn't you? We were a family."

Root presses her lips together tight, searching for words.

"I couldn't. I knew you were safe, but... I couldn't stay involved."

Jean's grip loosens on Root as she pulls away, but Root would give anything for her to stay.

"I never stopped thinking that you were out there," Jean says, hurt in her words. "That you were waiting for me to come back. All I _wanted_ was to come back."

Root's heart begins to break, the look in Jean's eyes the same betrayal as when she left her all those years ago.

"Just because I couldn't look for you doesn't mean I wasn't thinking about you." Root shakes her head. "It doesn't mean I didn't want you back with us."

"Um...," Jason clears his throat, and all eyes turn to him. He cowers under the intensity of their gazes, especially Shaw's. "I know this is, uh, important, but can we, maybe... go home? I think I might need new pants."

**___\ Of the Manhattan Five /___**

With the police called to the scene of a "massive drug war" and heroin found on a nearby doorstep, the newscasts didn't even bother mentioning the manhunt for one missing Margaret Myers returned safely home. No one bothered asking questions as to Molly and Jason's whereabouts after blaming it on the paint cans in their bags, and the two were more than happy to accept being grounded to their rooms after school for the next month. Being kept behind locked doors with their families in the next room almost didn't seem like a punishment, though their parents would never understand why.

When asked where Jean-Louise Finch was, neither of them knew. They said they had been hanging out on the streets without her, and assumed she was at home. Holly didn't buy it, but it was her word against two kids and parents who wanted to be done with the ordeal already.

"Aren't you at least going to call your aunt?" Root asks, toying with Jean's hair as they sit on the couch watching the twenty-four hour news cast blare a botched version of the night's events.

"Why, so she can scream at me?"

"So she knows you're okay," Shaw responds, setting down two coffee mugs on the table and plopping onto the couch with her own, black brew.

Jean shrugs.

"I'll do it in a little bit. Hopefully by then she'll be too worried to be mad at me."

Shaw rolls her eyes, but Root only grins.

Jean types rapidly into Root's phone, then hands it to her. The screen is filled with a social media page plastered in intricate graffiti work along the subway lines of Manhattan.

"You really did all of this?" Root asks, gushing with pride. "You're so talented."

"I've always liked art."

"Reading, too," Root adds, and Jean smiles.

"You remembered?"

"Of course I did."

"I can't show this to my aunt," Jean says, excitement in her voice diminishing. "She'd rat me out in a heartbeat."

"Yeah, we really don't have the moral high ground on this one," Shaw agrees, sipping her coffee. "You're good, though, you might want to try doing it somewhere the police will appreciate it more."

Jean grabs her coffee, letting it warm her hands. Slowly, she's getting over the events of the night, but something is still eating at her.

"So, how do you guys know when people are in trouble?"

Root and Shaw share a look.

"I mean, I've been all over the city looking for ways of finding your whole team thing, but you only seem to come around for certain stuff. Not all the drug rings, just some of them. Not all the kids in the alley, but us. I'm all for the urban legends of you guys just being part-machine, or all supernatural like, but I know there has to be a real reason."

"You want to know a secret?" Root says, words directed at Jean but eyes on Shaw. Shaw's look tells her to tread carefully, but Root already knows.

Pushing away from Jean. Root pulls her hair away from her ear, revealing a long, winding scar.

"You see this?" Root asks, tapping at it. Jean scrunches up her nose and nods. "I have a cochlear implant here."

"You were deaf?"

"Briefly. This one's different than the usual ones though." Root lets her hair fall back in place, turning to look at Jean. "This one lets me talk to someone very special. She lets me know when people are in trouble, and she lets Harold know too, just in a different way."

"Harold Finch?"

Root nods. Clears her throat.

"She's the one that told us about you, years ago. She... has a way of knowing when bad things are going to happen."

"But not _all_ bad things," Jean points out. "Like my parents."

Root drops her gaze, placing a hand on Jean's knee.

"No, not all things. Just... planned things. Violent crimes involving ordinary people."

"People like me," Jean whispers.

"Like all of us," Root assures her. "She does her best, and She's never been wrong."

"Where is she?"

Root looks to Shaw, unsure how to say it without revealing too much.

"She's got eyes everywhere," Shaw says. "So, She's kind of everywhere too."

Jean nods, not quite understanding but unsure what's left to ask.

"I used to beg my aunt to go back to that toy store. I thought, maybe you guys would be there." Jean pauses a minute, looking down into her mug. "Do you think she saw that, too?"

"Yeah," Root replies, "but She doesn't tell us everything She sees."

"I still have that bear in my room."

"I still have your drawing in mine."

Jean turns to Root in shock. A small smile hangs loosely on her features.

"No way."

"Bedside table, top drawer." Root smiles, wrapping Jean up in the umpteenth hug of the hour. "I told you, just because you couldn't be here, doesn't mean I wasn't still thinking about you."

"Well, think no more," Jean says, snuggling back into the couch. "Cause I'm back. And it'll be so cool if you guys can come with me when we paint. And my school's not that far from here, so I won't even have to transfer. It'll be perfect."

Root's eyes dart to Shaw's like a dear caught in headlights. _Not again_, they plead,_ don't make me say goodbye again._

"Kid," Shaw says, scooting in a little closer. "You know we want you here, but..."

"Don't say it," Jean says, pointing an accusatory finger her way and leaning in closer to Root. "Don't say it."

"You're home is with your Aunt. You have a good life there. She's at every soccer game, she goes to all the award ceremonies--"

"And she's a hard ass, and she _sucks_, and her kids are all college-level _jerks_."

"She's not that bad, and you know it," Shaw says, and Jean crosses her arms.

"I'm not leaving again. This is where I've wanted to be for a long time, and you're not getting rid of me."

"We don't _want_ to get rid of you," Root says quickly. "That's not what she's saying."

Jean turns toward Root, taken aback.

"Wait, you _agree_ with her? I thought you were on _my_ side!"

"There aren't any _sides_ here," Shaw says flatly. "We all want the same thing, it's just... we can't have the same things."

Jean's shoulders droop, resolve dwindling as sadness wells in her eyes.

"We're going to figure it out, though, okay?" Root says, earnest and believing it. "We'll find a way for you to come over, or spend time here-- something. We'll make it work."

"How?"

Root thinks a moment.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. But we've been through some messier situations and sorted our way through it. We're going to do that here, too."

"But it's going to take a little bit of time," Shaw adds. "So, you're going to have to go back with your aunt, but that doesn't mean you won't see us ever again."

"Are you sure?" Jean's gaze flitters between the both of them, wanting to believe them more than anything.

"Of course," Root says, giving her shoulder a nudge. "We're family."

Jean nods, taking a deep breath and, while not letting go of the dream, letting go of the way she envisioned it.

"Okay."

"Okay, so let's get you back home," Root says, helping Jean up. Shaw follows, and the three start for the door.

"I don't live too far from here, I can just walk home."

"Not a chance," Root says, grabbing the car keys. "It's late. This city's too dangerous to just wander around all night."

Jean groans.

"I'm always on the streets at night. You've _seen_ what I do in my spare time."

"We frequent the subways too you know, and if we catch you out past curfew we'll get Fusco and John to bring you home in a _squad car._"

"Oh my _God_, I thought you guys were the _cool_ parents," she says, though smiling, and Root gives her a playful glare.

"You just went from having one authority figure to three," Root points out. "Be careful what you wish for."

"I just want you guys to know that you're the best, but like also the worst," Jean jokes, and they head for the elevator. Shaw gives Root a quick one over, and though it's not the dream family she's sure Root envisioned when they first found Jean, she can't help but see the glow in her face and the light in her eyes. Regardless of whatever way they'd wanted this to go, somehow they all know this is going to be better than they'd ever dreamed, they just have to iron out a few kinks first.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the prompt!!! I know it’s been a long time since I’ve posted, but thank you, and everyone else, who have sent in prompts! I know it’s slow moving, but I’m working on it. This prompt was super sweet, and I know somewhere in the ask box I have a request for young Jean coming back into their lives, so I’ll probably do that one and toss it into this series, though it’ll be a loosely continued thing.
> 
> I really hope you like this fanfic, and thank you so much again for sending it. This page and all of you guys are just the best, and I know whenever I’m down or a little out of it, I can always come here and be flooded with happiness. Thanks for being so gosh-darn awesome.


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